


windows to the soul

by imdeansgirl



Series: my soul and yours are the same [3]
Category: Girl Meets World
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Eye Color, Hair Dyeing, High School, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-24
Updated: 2018-03-24
Packaged: 2019-04-07 11:31:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,780
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14079972
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/imdeansgirl/pseuds/imdeansgirl
Summary: Lucas has always liked his eyes.Sure, some people think they're a little boring; they're only brown, after all. But Lucas sees a lot more to them than that - he sees honey flecks in them, and rich dark undertones. Plus, they're the color of his soulmate’s hair - what's not to like?





	windows to the soul

**Author's Note:**

> hello hello hello, so as some of you know i have a running soulmate au series for larkle. (if you don't, [here's a link to the other parts of the series](https://archiveofourown.org/series/524785); each fic is a standalone, so it's not necessary to read either before reading this but, you know, if you want to they are there!!) i'm working on a HUGE larkle project rn that's not soulmate related, so i figured might as well write a real quick soulmate au to hold the tides for now. so yeah! if you wanna chat, im now @[farklelucas ](http://farklelucas.tumblr.com)on tumblr; i'm currently on hiatus, but i should be back soon. anyway if u read this.... im so sorry bc i think it's trash lolololol okay love you all <3

Lucas has always liked his eyes.

Sure, some people think they're a little boring; they're only brown, after all. But Lucas sees a lot more to them than that - he sees honey flecks in them, and rich dark undertones. Plus, they're the color of his soulmate’s hair - what's not to like?

Admittedly, brown eyes may be a little… simple. Most people in the world have brown hair, so most people in the world have brown eyes. But he feels like his are different. Well, he's sure everyone feels like theirs are different. Maybe it's stupid. But he looks at his own eyes and feels a little jolt of excitement, because there's someone out there who is going to love him unconditionally and wholeheartedly, with brown hair and strands of gold woven in. And that's pretty stupidly exciting.

As he zones out again, Riley flicks him on the ear fondly. “You okay, Lucas?” she asks.

He smiles at her. Riley is his best friend in the world, and the only coworker he really likes at all. She's cheerful and fun, with eyes the color of hay and a smile that lights a city block. “Yeah,” he says, gathering up his tray in his arms again. “Yeah, Riles, just thinking.”

She grins back, and follows him as he takes the tray of dirty dishes back to the kitchen. “You know, you've been here longer than the rest of us,” she says. “It's not right that you're still bussing tables every other day. That's what we have Yogi for.”

“Hey,” Yogi yelps indignantly. Riley merely shrugs before turning back to Lucas, mirth still curling through her golden eyes.

Riley is not the most country minded person in the county. If Lucas’s mother were forced to say one bad thing about her, it would be that she was a city slicker. (This is saying a lot, seeing as Lucas’s mother dotes on Riley like she were her own.) Riley moved to Texas a year ago with her parents and her little brother, and somehow she still hasn't picked up southern hospitality. Her New York mindset bleeds into their lives all the time - if you want something, ask for it. If you don't get it, do what you can to get it or move on.

Lucas believes in something a little different. “I'm sure Missy will notice the good work I'm doing soon enough,” he says. It sounds half hearted even to his own ears. He's been working at Pappy Joe's Diner since he was fourteen - that's three years of taking orders, washing dishes, scrubbing grease stains out of his uniform, and coming home with little to nothing to show for it. It's not like his family is tremendously poor; both his parents work, after all, so they're not uncomfortable. It's just that if he ever wants to get into college, which he most certainly does, he needs to save his pennies. They all lean across the counter and glance at Missy, who looks all the world like their boss as she counts the money in the cash register, her face at its typical resting position of pure rage. Okay, maybe she won’t notice his good work after three long years. But he can’t just ask for a raise or anything - it’s just not how he was raised.

He sighs and gently places the dishes in the sink, forlorn. Riley places a comforting hand on his shoulder and Yogi goes back to sweeping. “Christmas is coming up soon,” he tries again, attempting to inject optimism and hope into every word. “Maybe she’ll give me a bonus then.”

“Yeah,” Riley says, smiling at him. “Maybe.”

It must be a really worthless cause if even Riley can’t muster up any real hope for him.

Yogi pipes up from where he’s sweeping: “Hey, at least there’s only a week of school left.”

The door to the kitchen swings open and Dave enters, huffing a half-empty laugh. “Yeah, and then he can waste all his time here,” he says flippantly. Riley glares at him and Dave, rather childishly, sticks out his tongue. “Let’s face it, Friar’s the best waiter we’ve got. If Missy hasn’t given him an upgrade yet, then chances are she never will.”

Riley tilts her nose up and turns back to Lucas. “Don’t listen to him,” she says decisively.

Lucas is trying really hard not to, but he has to admit - Dave has a point. A really annoying point.

\--

Yogi was right, at least; school is ending for Christmas this week, and Lucas has at least that to look forward to. He loves Christmas - he loves spending time with his mom, with her beautiful smile and delicious home cooking, and his dad with his booming laugh and stupid farmer’s tan. His parents are the best, and he loves hanging out with them. But he does tend to double up his shifts at work, which leaves little to no time for hanging out with friends - like Riley, who plans a big old Christmas party every year, or Zay and the rest of the football team, who like drinking under the underpass, neither of which Lucas is particularly opposed to, but neither he gets time to do very often.

The thing is, he works twice as hard as everyone to earn the salary that he wants, needs, and deserves. He usually isn’t one to claim someone is holding a grudge against him, because he doesn’t want anyone to think he doesn’t work hard or blames other people for his struggles. All that being said, though, he thinks Missy may have a grudge against him. He doesn’t know why or how, but he’s, like, 43% sure.

He watches her from across the way, where she’s shoving things into her locker. She’s talking at an unmatchable pace to Charlie Gardner, a poor boy from yearbook who looks scared out of his wits. Missy pauses from placing a pretty pink notebook, and turns to him and says something that looks rather cutting. Even Lucas winces. He has no idea what he did to potentially get on her bad side, but he decides then and there that he regrets it. If Missy’s family didn’t own the restaurant ever since they bought it from his grandfather a few years back, maybe he’d file a complaint or something.

The bell rings then, signifying they only have about five minutes until first period. He curses quietly, then quickly shoves his English books into his backpack and slams his locker closed. He looks back at where Missy was, only to find her gone, and Charlie Gardner still scribbling miserably onto a notepad. _Poor sap,_ he thinks, then hurriedly turns to head the other direction when _bam!_

He’s met with a sharp pain in his shoulder as he bangs into somebody, momentarily releasing his grip on his unzipped backpack. It and the contents within it spill across the floor, reaching across the hallway and effectively causing a huge mess. He watches as people look down at his books and, as quickly and efficiently as possible, steps over them. _Oh, real nice,_ he thinks bitterly, before coming to his senses. “Uh, sorry,” he apologizes mindlessly, bending down to gather up his notes on _Animal Farm._ “I’ll look where I’m going. Real sorry.”

Surprisingly, he sees out of his peripheral vision, the other person bends down and begins helping him. “Don’t worry about it,” says a familiar voice, soft like a melody and sweet like candy. He looks up and finds himself face to face with Farkle Minkus, who smiles brightly at him. Honey golden eyes on brown, just a foot or so apart. He swallows, stupidly, before smiling back.

Farkle Minkus is a whirlwind of things, none of which Lucas often has the pleasure to encounter. While Lucas hangs out with the football team and kids from the diner, Farkle hangs out with the drama kids, like Maya Hart, and the braniacs, like Isadora Smackle. Not that Lucas has anything against those groups - in fact, he often goes to see the school plays (which Farkle happens to usually star in) and see the academic tournaments (which Farkle happens to usually lead). _Hamlet_ , starring Farkle as Hamlet, has by far been his favorite play. His favorite academic tournament is a little harder to choose, simply because they’re not usually his thing and he tends to fall asleep halfway through - although he really, really likes debate tournaments. He was thinking about joining the debate team, but then realized he couldn’t be next to… uh… all the academics without potentially passing out. All the academics. Yep.

But Farkle seems like a good enough guy. Sure, he’s a little intimidating - he’s good at everything he tries, and he can be a little narcissistic and even a tad dramatic. But he’s always there for his friends, and he’s always willing to help out anyone who needs it. Not to mention he’s, like, stupidly handsome. Just objectively - he’s got sharp and angular features, brilliant spiky brown hair that stands up off his head, sculpted eyebrows that fit together perfectly. To tie it all together, his eyes are a shade of gold unknown to the universe. They’re not neon or anything - he suspects a person with neon gold hair would be easy to find. But they are a nice, soft, fair color, with undertones of brown and even lighter blonde in there. Lucas finds himself falling far too easily into Farkle’s eyes. But he suspects it’s that way with everyone - Farkle’s just a very naturally pretty person, and he can’t have been the only one to notice.

He shakes himself and rejoins the world of the living, where Farkle is picking up some of his scattered books. “Right,” he says. “Right, uh, thanks.” He then scoots himself across the hall to pick up the binder he’d dropped, stuffing all of the notes inside. He looks over to see Farkle carefully examining a book.

“Vonnegut,” Farkle says eventually, examining the cover. Lucas feels his cheeks color as he looks over the well-worn pages; it’s dumb, because it makes him feel pretentious. He’s not trying to impress anyone, really, he isn’t. He feels like when a guy says his favorite go-to light read is Kurt Vonnegut’s _Breakfast of Champions,_ it sounds like he’s slapping a sticker on his forehead that says, “Look at me! I’m special!” That’s why he never tells… anyone. Ever. His parents know, only because they can find him reading the book on particularly bad days. But no one else. Not even Riley.

Riley, in fact, is kind of the one who instilled this fear in him. She always tells him that she never trusts a man whose favorite book is _Moby Dick._ When asked why, she goes off about toxic masculinity in literature and the history of animal cruelty and pain hidden within it. He tried to keep up, he really did, but his mind went blank after the first few minutes. All he got was that a dude who says his favorite book was _Moby Dick_ probably thought he was better than everyone else even though a “fourth grader could probably write a better and more imaginative classic American novel.” So he keeps his novels tucked away when he can.

Farkle smiles at it, and then at him as he passes him the book. “I love that book,” he says, and Lucas feels a grin break out across his own face. “I haven’t read it in a while, but I remember it being really surreal.”

“Yep, that’d be _Breakfast,_ ” he says. He watches as Farkle scoops up the rest of the books and puts them into Lucas’s hands. As he adjusts his own backpack, Lucas blurts out, “Thank you.” Farkle just blinks owlishly at him, so he continues. “Uh, for being so nice. And for, uh, helping me out when I dropped my stuff.”

At that, Farkle laughs. It’s a light little thing, nothing booming or loud, almost like a bell or a wind chime. Lucas resolutely does not think it’s adorable. “No problem,” he assures him. “I kind of knocked the stuffing out of you, so.” He shrugs and plays with the strap on his backpack. “Least I could do, really.”

He then smiles at Lucas one last time, and turns to leave, the opposite direction of Lucas’s English class. For some reason, he feels the need to call after him. So, impulsively, he does just that. “See you around, Farkle!”

Now halfway down the hall, Farkle turns around and grins at him. “See you, Lucas,” he replies, and then goes back to making his way. Lucas only really registers: _Hey, he remembered my name._

\--

“Uh, no. Uh uh, nope, not doing this!”

“Come on! Come on, come on, come on, _please_ Yogi! It’ll be really fun.”

“Yeah, or you’ll both get sued for sexual harassment.”

“Oh, come on, you know you want to play too, Dave.”

“No, I really, really don’t.”

It was a Wednesday after school, and the regular gang was together serving at Pappy Joe’s. Lucas was idly scrubbing the counter; even though it was surely already clean, Missy had instructed him to keep scrubbing until told otherwise. “LIke the top of the Chrysler building,” Riley had muttered, and Dave snorted. Lucas didn’t really know what that meant, but he was glad somebody was getting enjoyment out of it.

Meanwhile, though, Riley was trying to get the other two regular servers to play Who’d You Rather? with the current customers. It’s an ancient kind of game, that he and Riley play a lot; you get two options, pick which one you’d rather be in a relationship with, and then pair up the winner against another person. You do that until you get to ten pairs, and then whoever you chose is the winner. They play a lot with celebrities, but he supposes there’s no harm in playing it with their Wednesday patrons. He would play if only he weren’t, you know. Mindlessly scrubbing.

Riley huffs and crosses her arms. “You two are no fun,” she says decisively. “This is why you don’t get invited to parties.”

“No, Yogi doesn’t get invited because he’s homeschooled and a weirdo.” Yogi lets out an offended yelp, but Dave ignores him and continues. “I don’t get invited because I’m an annoying little know it all.” Then he turns to Yogi, rolling his eyes and asking, “There, you happy? We all have our faults, I’m just willing to admit it.”

Yogi grumbles and crosses his arms, but doesn’t disagree.

After a few moments, a short and pretty blonde enters the diner. Yogi’s eyes light up and he whistles. “Okay, Riley, I’ll play with you,” he says.

Riley rolls her eyes and grumbles something unintelligible but clearly insulting, making her way to welcome Maya and give her a menu. As they continue to talk, he hears Dave teasing Yogi again. “They also don’t invite you to parties because you think you’re a ladies’ man when you’re really a creep.”

“Hey, dude, that’s not fair!” Dave snorts. “When you insult me, you should at least insult yourself back.”

“Okay… alright, well, clearly people don’t invite me to parties because I’m gay.”

“That’s not true. Farkle Minkus is gay and he gets invited to tons of parties. You don’t get invited to parties because you have a stick up your butt.”

Lucas whips around from the counter. Yogi looks very proud of himself and Dave is blatantly rolling his eyes. “What,” he says, “did you just say?”

Yogi and Dave exchange a glance, then Yogi turns back to him. “Uh,” he says, “that Dave has a stick up his butt?”

“No, no,” Lucas says, shaking his head. “What did you say about Farkle?”

All the sudden, Dave has a twinkle in his eye that Lucas doesn’t particularly like. “Why,” he drawls, suddenly regaining his Texan accent, “Lucas Friar, are we interested in someone?”

Unfortunately, his cheeks betray him as they begin to warm. “No,” he insists anyway, “just… didn’t know that, is all.” He wants to add on that he thinks it’s very unfair that Dave can slip in and out of his Texan accent like it’s nothing, but then he remembers Farkle can do the same and Dave might make the connection, so he shuts up and turns back around to scrub the counter. Lucas curses the theater class they both took.

Luckily, the door opens just then, and Riley enters. “Hamburger,” she says to Dave, “cheese, lettuce, tomato, and barbecue sauce.”

Dave snaps back into work mode, and heads straight to the grill. Meanwhile, Riley adds the girl’s order to the rack before going to get her drink. Yogi turns out to the patrons and sighs. “Riley, congratulations,” he says dreamily, “you just met my future wife.”

“Nice try,” Riley snarks, “but she has brown eyes and you’re not her type.”

Yogi shrugs. “I can dye my hair, see what happens,” he says. “And what’s her type?”

Lucas, Dave, and Riley all answer at once: “Girls.”

Yogi looks crestfallen.

Just then, the door to the diner opens again, and in walks none other than Farkle Minkus. Lucas puts down the sponge as he walks down to Maya’s booth and sits down. “I’ve got it,” he says distantly.

“Lucas, it’s my table,” Riley says. “You keep scrubbing, I’ll get it.”

He stammers and looks for an excuse. “Uh, you’re making Maya’s milkshake,” he reasons eventually. “Dave is cooking, and Yogi is a disaster of a person.”

Yogi huffs and leans on the counter. “You guys are really mean,” he mutters. Everyone ignores him again.

“So I’ll just go take his order - Missy’s on break, she won’t miss me scrubbing the counter for a couple minutes.”

Riley frowns but shrugs, and Dave gives him an awful look, like he can see the inside of Lucas’s soul and he’s far too smug about it. It makes Lucas’s stomach turn in distaste.

He exits the kitchen in a familiar movement, and approaches the booth with his lip between his teeth and nervous flutters in his stomach. As he draws nearer, Farkle looks up at him and grins. “Lucas,” he says warmly. “I didn’t know you worked here.”

Lucas finds himself smiling back gently, almost involuntarily. “Yeah, well, here I am,” he says.

“Here you are,” Farkle agrees. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

As Lucas raises a brow, Farkle blushes at the tips of his ears and looks back down at his menu. Maya clears her throat. “Huckleberry,” she addresses. Maya often calls Lucas the “most Texas person” she knows, and developed the nickname “Huckleberry” for him right after she had moved here in the ninth grade from Chicago. “You’re not my waitress.”

He smiles politely at her. “Keen eye, Maya,” he says, and she raises a brow. “Riley is in the back making your milkshake, so I got the pleasure of coming to take Farkle’s order.”

Farkle grins up at him. “What’s good here?” he asks. “I’ve never been.”

Lucas ponders this for a moment - technically, he’s supposed to answer with the most expensive items on the menu, but instead he kind of wants to tell Farkle the truth. “Dave makes a really good chicken parm,” he says. “But don’t tell him I told you that.”

He watches as Farkle’s honey eyes sparkle in return. “Dually noted,” he says, “I’ll take it.” He hands Lucas his menu, their fingers briefly brushing, and Lucas feels his stomach do flips. He smiles one last time at Farkle before heading back into the kitchen.

“Chicken parm,” he calls out, and when he’s not met with a response, he looks up from his notepad.

Missy glares at him, arms crossed. “Friar,” she grits out, holding up his abandoned sponge. He swallows. Whoops.

\--

There’s a generous tip waiting for them at the table when Maya and Farkle leave. “Half for Huckleberry, half for the hot brunette” is written on the receipt. Riley scoffs, but blushes intensely, and Lucas chuckles.

\--

Friday, the last day of school before Christmas break, is a long and boring day. Most of the teachers just want to leave, so they show movies or play Christmas trivia games until their period is finally over, and then the kids are ushered onto the next class. It’s mind numbing, but it’s the last day, and his mom promised to bake him apple pie once the day was over. So for the sake of apple pie and his own sanity, he holds on.

In History class - seventh period, the last period of the day - he sits in his regular seat and puts his backpack down on the floor. He wonders what Mister Matthews has planned for the day. He usually doesn’t like to spend his time idly, so he doubts it will be another viewing of _Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer_ or a game of Hang-Elf.

In a familiar routine, a weight drops into the seat next to him. He turns to ask Riley what she thinks her dad has planned for the day (and she would respond with a cheerful and nonchalant shrug, then tell him about her Spanish class from earlier), only to be greeted by the side of Farkle Minkus’s head. “I heard today’s lesson is about Belgium,” he says conversationally, not even glancing in Lucas’s direction. “The great happenings of the year 1831, to be precise. I’ve already read about it, but I am interested in what whacky way Matthews is going to relate it to Christmas.” He finally turns to Lucas and smiles gently, that same twinkle in his eyes as in the diner. “Hi,” he says eventually.

Lucas blinks. His throat feels dry. “Hi,” he says, trying not to stare creepily into Farkle’s really, really beautiful eyes. Okay, he needs to stop.

When Riley enters the door only to find Farkle in her seat, ruffling through his backpack to find a pencil, she frowns, confused. Understandably so, Lucas figures, considering she’s sat in the same seat every other day of the semester. Lucas shrugs apologetically and mouths _Sorry._ She smiles tightly at him, then beelines for Farkle’s usual seat, right next to the infamous Maya Hart, who’s tipped back in her chair with one foot resting on the desk. She grins wildly at Riley, and Riley smiles shyly back.

Meanwhile, Farkle turns back to him. “So,” Lucas says awkwardly, “do you have any Christmas plans?”

Farkle laughs, the same little one Lucas got a few days ago. It’s like music. “No,” Farkle says, “my family’s Jewish.” Oh. Lucas feels his cheeks burn as Farkle shakes his head to reassure him. “It’s okay, nobody knows. My so-many-greats grandfather was adopted by a Christian family, which is why the last name isn’t a dead giveaway.”

“Sorry anyway,” Lucas says sincerely, and Farkle just shrugs. “Okay, well, have any Hanukkah plans?”

At this, Farkle shrugs again, this time unsurely. “Dunno,” he says. “We light the menorah and I get eight nights of gifts, which is pretty cool. My dad says they have something really special planned for the eighth day. And then we go out to eat the day after.”

“Where you gonna eat?”

Farkle hums in consideration, then grins sideways at Lucas. “There’s a really nice diner I know,” he starts, and Lucas laughs. “Really good service, excellent chicken parmesan.”

“Cool,” Lucas says, “maybe you can show me.”

They both seem to realize what’s come out of his mouth at the same time. Lucas’s heart fills with lead, and Farkle raises a perfectly sculpted eyebrow. Both boys open their mouth to say something when Mister Matthews enters and the bell rings. “Alright, kids,” he says, “let’s talk Belgium.”

As Mister Matthews speaks, Lucas tries to throw himself into the lecture instead of concentrating very obviously on the boy beside him. Out of the corner of his eye, he watches Farkle scribbling down notes - writing, pausing, erasing, pausing, writing, erasing. Not that he wants to know what Farkle’s doing or anything - he’s just very easily distracted. Or maybe Farkle’s just distracting.

Mister Matthews is making an analogy about Belgians and Santa’s elves when he feels a tap on his shoulder. Farkle slides him a folded up piece of paper before turning back to Matthews’s poorly executed drawing of a reindeer.

Lucas looks at the paper in his hand for one beat, and then another. Then he realizes what he’s supposed to do with it; quickly and quietly he opens it, looking for the message in the center. When he finds it, it reads, in Farkle’s quick and pretty handwriting:

_I can definitely show you the diner. I know this really cool waiter there, bet he can get us in. ;)_

Here comes that involuntary grin again. Farkle seems to that have effect on him. He glances over to where Farkle looks almost too invested in Belgium’s rebellion of 1831, minus the ghost of a smirk on his lips. Quietly and carefully again, Lucas wraps up the note and places it in his pants pocket. Farkle Minkus makes him do things he doesn’t quite understand.

\--

Like he’s said before, he’s pretty sure Missy has it out for him - possibly for all of them. So he has to admit, he’s pleasantly surprised when she gives them all the night off for Riley’s Christmas party. He knows that it’s only because she wants to go too; Riley does throw the best parties, after all; her kick off summer banger was one that no one forgot. But he kind of expected her to make all of them work while _she_ went to the party alone. Instead, though, she closed down the diner and told them all to be early for their next shifts. They all grumble their assent before heading directly home so they can get ready for the party.

Lucas shows up in his best outfit - blue jeans and a pressed black shirt - with his mom’s apple pie in his arms. Riley practically bounces when she answers the door for him, then throws her arms around his neck. “Wow, Riles, I know my mom’s pie is good, but I didn’t know it was that good,” he jokes.

She pulls away and holds him at arm’s length. “I’m just really, really happy you’re here,” she says, smiling softly.

He keeps his smile, but furrows his brow inquisitively. “Yeah, me too,” he says, but internally he’s wondering if Riley’s been drinking.

She brings a hand up from his neck to his face and rubs her thumb across his cheek. Yeah, he can’t smell it, but definitely drinking. Why else would she be acting so weird?

Riley drops her hand and walks back inside, inviting him without a word. He closes the door behind him and follows her into the kitchen, putting the pie gently on the counter as she floats into the living room, where she turns the stereo on. Sickeningly sweet pop music pours from it, setting the atmosphere for the tons of people he’s sure will arrive any moment. Riley picks her arms up above her head, and begins twirling in time with the music, occasionally picking up her dress to sway along. He laughs with her, and she turns to beckon him forward. “Oh, no, Riley,” he says, still laughing. “You know I don’t dance.”

“Yeah, but you _could,_ ” Riley says. “You have legs, they work, and you’re handsome enough to pass for dancing well even if you suck.”

He laughs again at that, and she takes the opportunity to pull him forward onto the impromptu dance floor.

They dance to the music for a little while, twirling each other and spinning in circles and moving their shoulders stupidly. Lucas is sure they both look stupid, but then again, they never look stupid in front of each other, so he supposes it’s okay. The song changes to another one, _Dancing on My Own_ by Robyn, and they only need to give each other a look before they’re shouting along to the song. They’re both lucky that Riley’s parents and little brother are out of town to visit their Uncle Eric, or else they’d be in trouble.

Again, they swing along to the music, dancing erratically with each other while yelling the words, laughing til they're breathless and nothing else in the world matters. Eventually, though, as much as he would like it to go on forever, the song ends. In the split millisecond between one song and the next, he finds himself thanking whatever entity is out there for Riley, his best friend. Then the song switches to a slow song.

Riley straightens from where she was hunched over, panting. She curtsies then, and she looks ridiculous doing so. “Sir,” she says, “may I have this dance?”

Lucas snorts. “You’re a big goof, you know that?” he asks.

“Yeah, but you love me,” she teases, grinning.

“Don’t push your luck.”

She simply shrugs and reaches out. Tentatively, he takes her hand and pulls her forward. This, he decides suddenly, is the weirdest and least comfortable position he’s ever been in, as Riley reaches up to put her hands around his neck. Just before she can, and before his hands can meet her hips, the doorbell rings. She rolls her eyes and mutters something about inconvenience, then heads to the door.

Dave and Yogi are there, Yogi bouncing on the balls of his feet and grinning animatedly. Dave looks like he couldn’t care less. “We brought chips,” he says, monotone, and Yogi holds up a bag of Doritos. Riley sighs but shrugs and lets them in without another word.

As Lucas, Yogi, and Dave go about setting out drinks and snacks, Riley greets people at the door and ushers them inside. Before they know it, sixty people are milling about the house, chatting or dancing in Riley’s living room. After they’ve finished, Lucas pouring the last of the bag of Ruffles into a spotted green bowl, Yogi spots a girl with honey blonde hair and grins, spitting into his hand before slicking his hair back. “Wish me luck,” he says, reaching out his hand for a fistbump.

Reluctantly, and likely to make him go away, Dave taps it lightly with his own fist before Yogi runs off. Dave sighs. “Poor sap,” he says. “Won’t even make it past introducing himself before he gets shot down.” He turns to Lucas and shrugs. “Oh well. I’m gonna go get wasted. Wanna come?”

Since he doesn’t see any of the football team yet, and Riley had long been swallowed whole by the crowd, Lucas shrugs. “Yeah, okay,” he says, and grabs his cup to follow Dave into the crowd.

Surprisingly, Dave is actually a pretty good dancer. He’s not grinding or anything, which Lucas is pretty grateful for because he doesn’t know what he would do if Dave started grinding on anyone or anything at all, let alone him. He also introduces Lucas to some of the kids from the debate team, who greet him by asking his stance on cheese. When he stutters out a lame, “Uh, cheese is really good,” they look at each other and then at Dave before nodding. Dave just nods back. Huh. It seems like he just passed some kind of test he wasn’t aware he was taking.

Eventually, though, he runs out of beer and decides to go get some more. Without asking or actually saying anything at all, Dave passes Lucas his cup and continues his in depth conversation with his debate buddies about the pros and cons of emotional LARPing, whatever that means. Dave’s cup isn’t even empty; it’s half full. But Lucas doesn’t really care as long as he gets more for himself.

As he turns away from the group, he trips on a catch in the carpet, both cups tipping forward. He manages to catch himself with his other foot, but the contents of Dave’s barely-touched drink leaps forward and out of his hands. He’s hoping he didn’t hit anybody, he really is, but of course, that isn’t his luck.

Missy looks more furious than she ever has before. Her green turtleneck tank top is covered in beer now, having landed mainly on her neck and mouth. “Friar,” she hisses, and he barely takes a moment to think about it before he turns and runs.

Although Missy is fairly fast and fueled by pure rage, he figures he has at least one advantage: he knows Riley’s house fairly well. He’s only been here about, well, a million times. Missy has never been here, though, and so he knows some fairly good hiding spots.

Once he finds that both the basement bathroom and Mister Matthews’s closet are both overrun with horny teenagers, Lucas desperately flings himself for his last possible saving grace - Riley’s tiny balcony.

He climbs out onto it and lands with a thud, quickly closing the window behind him. There is another person there already, leaning over the rail on the balcony, and he’s a little disappointed until they turn to face him.

Farkle’s eyes grow wide at his presence, and then he smiles. “Lucas,” he says. “Hey.”

“Hey,” Lucas says bashfully. “What’re you doing up here?”

Unsurprisingly, Farkle shrugs. Figures; dramatic as they all say he is. Lucas comes to stand next to him, leaning on the rail too, and leaving their elbows touching. There’s enough space that he could scoot over, leave around an inch between them, but he finds that he doesn’t really want to. It feels good, comforting, grounding to have Farkle next to him. “Halfway through Hanukkah,” Farkle says conversationally.

Lucas hums. “Why aren’t you at home then?” he asks. He might be prying, but he’s curious.

“My parents trust me,” he says honestly. “As long as I make time to spend with them too, they’re cool with me going out. Sneaking onto balconies. Hanging out with handsome waiters.”

Once again, Lucas’s face heats up and his mouth breaks out into a smile. Farkle brings out either the best or the worst in him, he can’t really tell which is which anymore. “Handsome?” he asks.

“Yep,” Farkle replies, popping the ‘p.’ “Yogi and I were chatting earlier. Good-looking guy.”

Lucas laughs, then bumps their elbows. “Awful kind of you,” he says.

Farkle grins at him happily. “I thought so,” he agrees.

For a while, they both stare off into the abyss of the night. Lucas finds himself thinking about Farkle again, unsurprisingly. He finds himself doing that an awful lot lately; working at the diner, doing homework, taking an online personality quiz. It’s silly and it’s stupid, but he can’t get him out of his head. His jaw, sharp and soft all at once; his nose, button-like and upturned like a little ski slope. His mouth, with perfectly pink lips that melt into a straight line when he smiles. Two perfectly sculpted eyebrows, which Lucas has literally never thought about when evaluating a person’s attractiveness before now. And of course, his eyes… The eyes he finds himself daydreaming about jumping into. Eyes like spun straw, eyes like reed. _Golden boy,_ he thinks nonsensically.

“Hey, Farkle,” he says, because he’s a little tipsy and tired and overwhelmed and _damn,_ he’s curious. “Why did you sit next to me in class the other day?”

Farkle seems to carefully consider this question. Lucas can almost see the wheels turning in his massive brain, gears going as fast as they possibly can. Eventually, he decides on challenging Lucas with a question of his own: “Why’d you serve my table at the diner the other night?”

Touché.

They both fall silent again. Farkle rubs his hands over the rail, cool in the wintery Texas air. It never really gets cold in Texas, but it does get… less hot. So Lucas is unsurprised to find himself fine when he remembers he forgot to grab his jacket on the way out the door. The only reason why he even notices is because Farkle looks a little cold, and for a moment he entertains the idea of draping his jacket over Farkle’s slight shoulders. Then his brain catches up with itself and he shakes his head. What is he even thinking? He can’t just go draping jackets over boy’s shoulders. Can he?

“I overheard you and Riley playing this game a couple weeks back,” Farkle says suddenly, and Lucas blinks. Farkle looks over at him and grins slyly. “Mila Kunis, huh?”

Lucas intakes a breath sharply. Oh. _That_ game.

“Who’d You Rather,” he says hurriedly. “It’s stupid. We just, like, take turns asking each other who we would rather be with back and forth, until we get to ten pairings. And whoever we pick last is, like, the ultimate…” He sighs as he trails off and rubs his hand on his neck. “Like I said, it’s stupid.”

Farkle’s sly grin melts into a reassuring smile. “It’s not stupid,” he promises gently, and then hums. “Want to play?”

At that, he sputters. Then raises a brow. “You? Y-you want to play?”

“Yeah, sure,” Farkle says shrugging. “It’s either that or we sit out here looking stupid and diddling our thumbs.”

He supposes he’s right. Lucas puffs out a breath and shrugs. “Okay,” he says. “You go first.”

Farkle hums, rubbing his chin and considering. “Alright,” he says eventually, “Mila Kunis or Kristen Bell?”

“Mila Kunis,” Lucas says, too quickly, and then blushes. He rushes to explain himself before he says something even more stupid. “She seems, I dunno, smart.”

He watches as Farkle laughs, bright and sweet. It’s Lucas’s favorite thing, Farkle’s laugh. “So you like smart, huh?” he asks. Lucas shrugs shyly. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

Lucas’s heart flips in his chest. Oh, God, he’s doomed.

For a moment, he considers, then asks the first two names that come to his mind: “Zac Efron or Rami Malek?”

Farkle looks… surprised? Impressed? He looks a little stupefied that Lucas even knew to choose two boys for him. He doesn’t dare to open his big, dumb mouth and tell him that Yogi was the one to tell him he’s gay. If he were Farkle - no, even now as himself, he doesn’t want Yogi knowing anything about his personal life.

“Rami Malek,” Farkle says eventually, looking back over the rail. “I feel like he could take care of me.”

Lucas makes a mental note of that. Then frowns as he considers _why_ he made a mental note of that.

The game continues, back and forth for a few more rounds. Lucas has landed on Lady Gaga and Farkle on Chris Hemsworth when Farkle throws a wrench into things. “Hm… Lady Gaga or Riley?”

Lucas blinks at him. Farkle doesn’t drop his gaze, just raises an eyebrow. It’s almost like a challenge, he thinks, although he doesn’t know what on earth the challenge could possibly be. “Lady Gaga,” Lucas says slowly. “I don’t think about Riley like that.”

It’s then Farkle who raises a brow. “Really?” he asks. “I thought… I mean the whole school thinks…”

“They think what?” he asks. His stomach is churning now, but not the good Farkle kind of churning like little butterflies flitting around. This is more like an angry keebler elf taking out its vengeance on the inside of Lucas’s stomach.

Farkle shrugs and looks back over the rail. “Nothing,” he says. There’s a small but pregnant pause as they both think about the question, then Farkle speaks up. “You’re gonna have to think of someone really showstopping to top Hemsworth. He’s handsome and looks like he comes from the farm. Exactly my type.”

Inwardly, there are bombs going off in his chest and he feels like screaming. Outwardly, Lucas just shrugs. “Not for me,” he says. Farkle opens his mouth to say something, but he keeps talking. He needs Farkle to hear this. “I’m more a fan of lean, wiry guys. Handsome, but smart, you know. In touch with their emotions.”

Farkle whips his head around to look at him. Lucas keeps an unwavering gaze, issuing his own challenge. Of what, he’s not sure. Like he’s said, Farkle makes him do crazy things.

Just then, the window opens. Riley’s head sticks out and she smiles widely, faltering when she sees Farkle. “Oh,” she says, “hey.”

“I’ll leave you guys be,” Farkle says suddenly, and uncharacteristically punches Lucas in the shoulder. “Good game.” Then he wiggles past Riley and back into her room.

In a solid movement, Riley hops out onto her own balcony. “What was that all about?” she asks as they both look into the room, watching as Farkle walks away.

“I don’t know,” Lucas mutters.

Riley shakes herself. “It’s not important,” she says. “Lucas, I was wondering…” She huffs a small laugh, then reaches up to tuck her hair behind her ear. “Would you, uh, want to go to dinner at the end of the week? Just the two of us?”

“Sure, Riles,” he murmurs, still looking after Farkle.

She breathes a sigh, then laughs. “Thank God,” she says. “Okay, I have reservations on Friday at eight. I bribed Missy into giving us both the day off - we just have to work longer hours on Saturday.”

He’s not really listening, he’s ashamed to admit. Farkle is long gone, but he can’t stop thinking about him and the stupid game. The words all bounce around his head like a bell in a belltower. _Looks like he comes from the farm. Handsome waiters. The whole school thinks…_

Oh, boy.

\--

Looking around, Lucas has never wanted more for the ground to open up and swallow him whole. He feels out of place here; his tie is too bright, his shirt is too wrinkled, and his pants are too long for him. When Riley said she had reservations, he assumed to the Mexican place on the corner of town square. But when she told him the name and he looked it up, he panicked and threw on his best dress shirt (rumpled and unworn since homecoming earlier in the year), the nearest tie (which happened to be one Zay had left at his house last time he had come over to prepare for a date), and his dad’s dress pants (too long, far too long). This is far, far out of his comfort zone. He had assumed it was out of Riley’s too, but here she is in a long, form-fitting blue dress with her makeup done to the nines.

He doesn’t know what’s going on, but he kind of hates it. He wants to go back to how he and Riley usually spend their Fridays when they’re not working - watching terrible movies, downing popcorn in their pajamas. He does not want to be eating overpriced food at La Petite Tornade which is, for some ridiculous reason, what this restaurant is called. (When he told his mom, who took French in high school, she blinked at him questioningly. “The Little Tornado?” she’d asked. His dad burst into laughter, and Lucas groaned through his hands. Mary and Gerard Friar were not exactly known for their tact.)

Eventually, after the waiter has come around for the thirtieth time and they’re both only halfway through the expansive menu, Lucas clears his throat. “Riles,” he says tentatively, “what are we doing here?”

She smiles but doesn’t look up from her menu. “Eating dinner,” she says. “Isn’t that obvious?”

Lucas rolls his eyes. “I got that,” he says. “What I don’t understand is why we’re here and not at, like, Papa John’s.”

Momentarily, her face crumples, before she looks up and smiles again. It looks more fragile this time like it might break if Lucas isn’t careful. “I wanted to go somewhere special,” she says. “Hope that’s okay.”

“Okay,” he says slowly, “but why?”

She sighs and puts her hand down on top of Lucas’s. “You’re still not getting this, are you?”

Oh.

_Oh._

That’s what everyone at school thinks.

He looks down nervously at her hands. “Look, Lucas, we’ve been best friends since the day I moved here,” she’s saying. He can barely hear her through the roar in his ears; right now, he’s just focusing on not vomiting on the table. “You get me, and I get you, and I like you a lot. Like a lot, a lot. I think that you’re missing what’s right here in front of you, and you don’t even want to look.”

Lucas looks up at her again, and she holds his gaze once more. “Everyone at school thinks we’re a couple already anyway,” she reasons. “I mean, look at us. My eyes are gold, just like your hair. And your eyes… your eyes are…” She tilts her head as she lets her sentence drift off, frowning at him. “Your eyes…”

“Yeah, I know Riles,” he says, frowning. “They’re brown. But I don’t think -”

“No, Lucas, your eyes!”

He looks around wildly for a reflective surface. He holds up a butter knife, but it does no good as it distorts his features. As he looks up to ask Riley for her compact, he sees her sprinting for the door, heels and all. He wants to go after her, but she sounded concerned about whatever is happening to his face. He gets up, throwing a five dollar bill on the table before running to the bathroom.

Nearly avoiding running down one elderly man and one man with his kid, he runs over to the mirror and looks. Blinks at himself. Turns on the tap and rubs water on his face, then looks up again. Nothing changes.

Yep, his eyes are a bright, cotton candy pink.

\--

The next day, his eyes are still pink. How did this… Well, no, he knows how this happened. It’s not uncommon for eye colors to change when one’s soulmate dyes their hair. The only problem is that Lucas never really expected it to happen to him. But at least his soulmate will be easy to find… right? Hopefully? He feels more lost than ever before.

He shows up early to work, still trying to get back in Missy’s good graces. When he does get there, she’s the only one there, still opening the doors. She glares at him, as per usual, then does a double take. “Whoa,” she murmurs. “That’s new.”

He shrugs. “Soulmate dyed their hair,” he mutters.

“I can see that,” she says, raising a brow. “You need to take the night off, try to go find them?”

He freezes, looking at her suspiciously. Missy’s being… nice. Missy’s never nice. What’s going on here? Is he on Punk’d? “What?” he asks.

She rolls her eyes. “Oh, yeah,” she says, “by the way, I thought you were my soulmate.”

He reels, stepping backwards a bit. “ _What?_ ”

“Yeah,” she says with a shrug, like this means nothing. “I dunno. I have gold eyes, you had brown, you were the nearest boy in the vicinity with nice hair.” She shrugs again, then opens the cash register. “I thought you knew and you were being difficult on purpose. But we’re cool now.”

He groans and throws himself into the nearest barstool. “Why does _everyone_ think I’m their soulmate?” he mutters.

In a surprising moment of softness, she reaches across the table and pats him on the shoulder. Lucas isn’t sure if he loves or hates the new Missy. “Sorry, man,” she says. “But if it makes you feel any better, you can have your promotion now.”

He looks up. “ _Really?!_ ” he yelps, and she nods.

“Yeah. I couldn’t fire you for being dumb and avoiding me - soulmate rejection workers’ clauses and all that jazz - but I could keep you from moving up. But now that I know you’re not my soulmate, no hard feelings. Promotion’s yours. You deserve it, dude.”

Huh. He can’t believe it was that easy. If it were that easy, he would have dyed his own hair _years_ ago. Then no one’s eye colors would have changed and everything in his life would be so much easier.

Dave and Yogi show up after a while, both whistling lowly at Lucas’s new neon pink eyes. “Adventurous,” Dave says, moving behind the counter and into the kitchen. “Bet you’re sad I’m not your soulmate though. Sorry about that.”

Lucas makes a loud gagging noise, and Missy laughs. Actually _laughs._ Riley’s in love with him, his eyes are pink, Missy is laughing. What else can go wrong in Upside Down Ville today?

\--

It’s one of the busiest nights they’ve seen in a while, and luckily, they’re working like a well-oiled machine. Even without Riley there, Missy is helping out now and it’s a good fit. Missy is hostess-ing like nobody’s business. Lucas is serving like his life depends on it. Dave is being a relatively good cook. Even Yogi is managing not to screw up too often.

Lucas rushes over to a table with three kids all under the age of five and two exhausted parents, serving them two large black coffees and all the pancakes their kids can eat, at their own request. Personally he would have gone for fruit, or something subduing that _isn’t_ a massive pile of sugar and dough, but servers can’t be choosers he supposes. Then he turns to serve his table of four, his newest table, and nearly drops everything on his plate.

There’s Farkle Minkus. With cotton candy pink hair.

“You,” he breathes, and shuffles a little closer.

When Farkle looks up at him, he beams up at him. “I kind of figured,” he confesses, and that makes Lucas grin too.

“Uh, hi,” Maya says, from the other side of the table. “Three other people here. Care to clue us in on what’s happening?”

As if on cue, Farkle turns to Maya and the two others - whom Lucas can only assume are Mister and Misses Minkus. The woman has blonde hair and a kind smile, with eyes that match her husband’s slicked back salt and pepper hair, and the man has kind wrinkles around his eyes and a well-worn wedding ring on the arm slung around the woman’s shoulders. “Mom, Dad,” he says eventually. “This is Lucas Friar. My soulmate.”

The words send tingles down his spine. He was beginning to think he’d never hear them. And he’s over the moon to hear them from Farkle’s mouth.

\--

The lights are getting nearer and nearer to completely down. Lucas looks nervously to his right where three empty seats are waiting, his jacket strewn over them in attempt to keep them safe for the time being. He sighs and checks his watch again - two minutes since the last time he checked.

Off to his left, the adults are tittering happily. Gerard and Jennifer trade gossip about the other PTA parents, while Stuart and Mary talk about their work. On the one hand, he’s insanely glad that his parents and Farkle’s are getting along so well; on the other, they could be a little less embarrassing about it.

He strains his neck and looks behind him to the back of the auditorium. The entire football team takes up two rows all on their own, and Zay waves at him cheerfully. Lucas waves back. Then he turns to see the debate team all clumped together, wearing matching debate tournament t-shirts. Lucas is glad to see both of his teams out to support. Smackle smiles and waves too, and he waves back.

Soon, he hears creaking and whispers ricochet down his isle as three familiar faces make their way towards him. “There you are!” he yelps, and pulls his coat off of the three chairs. “It’s five minutes to curtain; I thought y’all had died.”

“Nope!” Yogi says excitedly, sitting the furthest away. “If I had died before seeing this show, I would have just, well…”

Dave rolls his eyes and supplies, “Died?”

“Yeah!”

Dave huffs and turns to Lucas, leaning over to speak to him from a seat away. “We would have been here sooner, but she was busy spending time with her _soulmate_.”

“Aw, leave them alone, it’s young love!”

“Yogi, you wouldn’t know love if it bit you on your perfectly square head.”

“Dave… that was the first sort of compliment you’ve ever given me.”

As they bicker like an old married couple, he turns to the person in the seat nearest to him and raises a brow. Riley blushes. “Okay, so I might have been wishing Maya good luck before she went onstage,” she admits. “So we ran a little late.”

He doesn’t blame them, really; a few months ago, when he first found out Farkle was his soulmate, they’d spent all their time together. They still try to spend as much time together as possible, but it’s a little hard to wish your boyfriend luck when he’s being whisked away into makeup at two in the afternoon when the show is at eight. Thus are the troubles of being the lead in the school musical.

“Hm,” Lucas muses, then points to her nose. “You’ve got lipstick smudged there by the way.”

Riley flushes and rubs at her nose.

From the far end of the group, where she’s been sitting and texting someone on her phone ever since they arrived, Missy shushes them. “Be quiet. The show’s about to start, and if you bozos get us kicked out, you’re all getting fired.”

“Aw, Missy, you love us,” Yogi coos, and Missy flicks him on the forehead.

Then the lights dim, everyone adjusts in their seats, and the curtain opens. The musical overture begins, mixing all the future music for them to hear and swelling as the lights go up on stage. The entourage begins singing and, eventually, a pastel pink-haired Seymour Krelborn makes his way to center stage. Lucas’s heart jumps in his chest. Between Farkle’s voice and how hot he looks in those glasses, he think Riley might have had the right idea to visit Maya before coming to sit down. _Little Shop of Horrors_ is going to be a long, long show.

\--

As the cast takes their bows, Lucas and his family and friends clap and whistle loudly and obnoxiously for Farkle. The curtains close and all the families in the theater stand up to stretch and wait for their respective children.

“Well, I’ve gotta go,” Riley says. “I told Maya I would meet up with her family and go out afterwards, so I should go find them.” She gives Lucas a quick hug and pats Yogi, Dave, and Missy on the shoulders before passing by them and wandering into the crowd.

After checking her phone once again, Missy hums. “I should go too,” she says, “I’ve got a date.” Yogi and Dave both make _ooh_ noises, and she reaches out and gently knocks their heads together like coconuts. “Shut up,” she says. Then she looks to Lucas and grins. “Tell Farkle I said he did great,” she says, and then she too leaves the group. Lucas has thought about it, and he really does like nice Missy better than mean Missy.

Looking at the last two left, who look as if they’re getting comfortable, Lucas clears his throat. Dave and Yogi look at each other, then back at him. “Guys,” he says shortly. “I want to take Farkle out after this.” They blink at him. “Like _out._ To a restaurant. Maybe with our families.” Once again, they say nothing, just stare. Lucas sighs and puts a hand to his head. “Jesus - I love you both, but please. You have to _go._ ”

At once, they both go, “Ohhhh.” “Alright, alright,” Dave says, gathering his coat. “We get it, we’re going.” He throws an arm around Yogi, who sticks his nose up snootily. “We can tell when we’re not wanted.”

“Clearly you can’t,” Lucas mutters, but waves as they go anyway.

As more and more cast members pour through the doors, Lucas begins to get jittery. He wants to put his hands on Farkle, put his hands on his shoulders and kiss his lips and tussle his hair. He also wants to ask if Farkle can keep the glasses. Yeah, he definitely wants to ask that.

Finally, after it seems like literally every other person has come to their parents, Farkle walks out to greet them, glasses (thankfully) in hand.

He approaches Lucas with a broad grin. “You brought flowers,” he observes, “you giant nerd.”

Lucas can’t help but laugh out loud at that. “Don’t be rude,” he says. “I’m just here to support my beautiful, talented, wonderful and fantastic boyfriend.”

Suddenly, Farkle frowns at him. His heart drops for a second before he says, “Who is he? I’ll kill him.”

After a brief eye roll, Lucas gently places the flowers into Farkle’s arms and smiles. “Congratulations,” he murmurs. “You did a great job.”

Farkle preens at that. And, because he can, Lucas leans down and kisses him.

Man, it doesn’t matter if it’s the first time or the fortieth time. Kissing Farkle Minkus is magical. He can’t believe he went most of his life without it.

That’s when their families catch sight of him and all exclaim, hugging Farkle and congratulating him on his fantastic job. Farkle keeps one hand in Lucas’s as he does all this, because he’s fantastic at multitasking.

Eventually, they all begin to clear out, their parents leading the way to the Minkus’ mini van that they’d brought for the occasion. Lucas and Farkle trail behind their parents, holding hands and playing a game that’d become a staple in their relationship. “Okay, who’d you rather - me or Mila Kunis?” Farkle asks.

“You.”

“Hm… me or Chris Pratt?”

“Oh, definitely you.”

“Me or Lady Gaga?”

“You.”

“Wow. That’s dedication, Lucas.”

Lucas grins and shrugs. “I don’t know why you’re surprised,” he says. “It’s always you; it’s always been you. It’ll be you til the day I die.” Farkle laughs, breathy and light, and Lucas takes it upon himself to continue. “You just wait til I get my hands on a ring.”

Suddenly, he hears a hitch in breath and a sharp tug as Farkle pulls him off to the side.

They end up behind a column, Farkle crowding him against it. “Did you just pre-propose to me?” he asks.

Lucas raises his eyebrows. “So what if I did?” he challenges.

For a moment, Farkle says nothing. Then he laughs, and Lucas was right; Farkle’s laugh is the most beautiful sound in the world. “You’re nuts, Lucas Friar,” he says, and Lucas shrugs.

“You make me do everything I’ve ever wanted to do,” he says.

Farkle grins at that, and leans up, kissing him earnestly. “I love you so much, idiot,” he mutters, and Lucas grins back.

“I love you too.”

**Author's Note:**

> wow, this is a mess!!! mad cred if you made it this far. just a couple things i wanted to address - [this is what farkle's hair looks like](https://www.beautylaunchpad.com/sites/default/files/styles/insert_normal_width_835/public/inline-images/pink1.jpg?itok=SYnYUFK-). why? because corey should dye his hair, that's why. anyway there's that and also, i mentioned it up top but jsyk, i've changed urls a BUNCH since last larkle fic, and i am now at the url @[farklelucas](http://farklelucas.tumblr.com) which is wow crazy i love it so much. im on hiatus rn but i should be back soon! so yeah that's the up and up on that, thanks for reading this garbage!


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